Remember My Name
by nicky69
Summary: AU. What if Brass hadn't gotten to Nick's place in time to save him from Nigel at the end of Stalker? This is slash folks, if that's not your thing, please walk away now. Betaed by the lovely elmyraemilie. Any mistakes you find are my own. Dark Fic.


**This is a sequel of sorts to a previous story called "Close To You", however it can also be read as a stand alone. Despite the fact that it is AU it does feature some heavy spoilers for the season two episode "Stalker".**

**Kelticsgirl look what you made me do. g**

**WARNING: THIS STORY FEATURES RAPE, NON-CON, VIOLENCE AND TOUCHES VERY BRIEFLY ON THE SUBJECT OF CHILD ABUSE. IF YOU ARE IN ANY WAY OFFENDED BY THESE SUBJECT MATTERS, PLEASE READ NO FURTHER.**

**Remember My Name**

"I see you Nick, do you feel me? Can you feel me?"

In the semi-darkness of Nick Stokes bedroom, Nigel Crane stands, towering over his recumbent friend. He aches to reach out and touch the beauty before him, but not yet. Not yet. It isn't the right time, but it will be soon. So for now he drinks in the sensation of being this close to the object of his affection. So close that he can feel the heat emanating from the T-shirt clad figure below him. So close that he can feel the air shift around him as Nick takes deep regular breaths, his body and mind held firm in the embrace of Morpheus.

His body trembles with repressed desire and longing. He has waited so long. Waited and watched; observing secretly as Nick went about his life, oblivious to Nigel's devotion and fidelity. Like a starving man who finds a banquet suddenly spread before him, he hesitates, unable to believe his good fortune. Yearning for sustenance, emotional and physical, he savors the moment, prolonging his anticipation.

In the murky predawn light that manages to slip past the blackout curtains, Nick's sleeping form seems to glow with an almost ethereal radiance His features, relaxed in slumber, are strong and beautiful. Classic good looks belie the agile mind and warm and generous heart beneath the surface. In his experience, Nigel has found that those who are beautiful on the outside are ugly and conceited on the inside. But not his Nick. From the moment he met him, he knew that Nick was different.

They had talked like, forever that day. It felt like he had known Nick his entire life. As Nick's warm Texas accent flowed over him, it was like a balm for all the fear and loneliness that filled his life. Nick was special and he made Nigel feel that way too; Nigel had found a friend.

"I see you, Nick."

From that day onward, he had watched over his new friend. In the still of the night he had crouched in the silent stygian darkness of Nick's attic, watching the silent rise and fall of Nick's chest, counting the hours until they could be together. Jane Galloway would be his gift to Nick, his way into his heart. He would show Nick how much he cared, he would made Nick see him.

Reaching down now he lays his hand on the soft, tanned skin over Nick's jugular artery, feeling the slow and steady throb of life below the deceptively delicate skin. He licks his lips in anticipation, pupils dilating as the duel thrills of control and lust ripple through his body.

"I feel you near me, Nick. Can you feel me?"

"Who is it?"

Nick's voice rings out in response to the insistent knocking on his front door. It is almost one in the morning, he is tired, in pain, and he just wants to go to bed. His ribs, wrist, and head ache, unwelcome souvenirs from his most recent close call on the job. They also serve as painful reminders of his own vulnerability and mortality And while being thrown from a two story window by a perp isn't an everyday occurrence, finding himself in the line of fire is. He got lucky this time and he knows it. He doesn't feel up to company, especially from someone whom he doesn't even know. Morris Pearson, however, is insistent and Nick finds the man forcing his way inside his home, babbling about more visions and seeing Nick's address.

"You saw my address?"

"Yeah, but that's not it. That's not it. I saw crashing, I saw falling and crashing. I saw somebody seeing through the back of his head. I don't know. I don't know, I don't know."

Then in an instant, he spins around to face Nick, one arm raised and pointing at him.

"Green T, green T! Does that mean anything to you? Green T."

Before he can answer the phone by his side begins to ring. Grissom's voice greets him, warning him the Nigel Crane has been in his home and informing him that help is on the way.

"Yeah, well I'm not alone," he says.

"What?" Grissom sounds alarmed.

"Hey, your 'psychic' here."

"Good, keep him there," is the curt reply.

By the time he sets the phone down, Morris Pearson is nowhere in sight. He takes a moment to retrieve his spare gun from the cabinet where he keeps his take out menus. Then, holding it awkwardly in his left hand, his injured right wrist pressed tightly to his aching ribs, Nick begins to search for the errant seer.

Slowly, cautiously, he stalks the hallway of his own home, peeking into rooms, but he finds no sign of the man, until a noise from above draws his eyes upward. He follows what sounds like a heavy weight being dragged, until he once more enters the living room. In his earnest inspection of his ceiling, he fails to notice the large green T that adorns the rug beneath his feet.

The ceiling, when it collapses, catches him by surprise. As does the body that now lies crumpled at his feet. Dust and debris still swirling in the air, he's reaches down, searching for a pulse, when another body drops to the floor before him. He reaches for his gun, but, it was knocked from his hand by the falling ceiling. The battle for its possession is over too quickly, Nigel Crane the winner. Pushing his glasses up his face with his left hand, Nick's gun in his right, he stands, dust eddying around him.

"You gotta. You gotta watch who you let in here. The guy was snooping around all over the place," Nigel says. He moves to lock Nick's door, sliding the chain into place, and drawing closed the blinds.

"Cops are on the way."

"Yeah, I heard that."

"Are you wearing my clothes?"

"Oh, yeah. I--em, you know, I--I picked these up at the dry cleaners. And I hope you don't mind. It's just that, I'm sorry, I just I like to feel close to you, Nick."

Pulling Nick's stolen clothes tighter around him, Nigel walks towards him, gun held at waist height. He gestures with his head, indicating that he wants Nick to walk ahead of him, telling him to stop once he reaches the entrance to his bedroom door. Nigel is so close behind him now, that Nick can feel the heat emanating from his body. His heart begins to beat a rapid tattoo of fear, his abused chest tightening as panic begins to set in.

The gun digging into his back compels him to enter and once inside he turns to face his captor. Nigel's eyes are bright, brittle diamonds in his flushed face. Behind the heavy black frames of his oversized spectacles, a madness glitters and Nick feels his hope burn away, destroyed in the fire of one man's obsession.

"Take off your clothes, Nick. Nice and slowly now. I want to see your beautiful body again."

"Again?" Horrified, Nick can only stare, shocked by Nigel's admission.

"Now don't be shy, Nick. Of course, I've seen you before. I watched you, you know. Like I watched, Jane. You said her name you know. In your sleep."

"You watched me sleep?" Terror now is seeping into his very soul. Desperately, he looks for a way out, for an escape, but there is nothing. He's on his own.

"Nick." Nigel's voice in harder now, annoyance colouring his tone, "Your clothes, Nick. Take them off."

He has no choice, so slowly he begins to strip. Taking his time, he prays that someone will get here before this madman can go any further. No such luck. He's down to his boxers now. Shivering in the chill air, he hesitates, reluctant to remove this final barrier between himself and Nigel.

"I haven't got all day, Nick."

Still, he hesitates, and with an impatient lunge, Nigel pulls the offending garment to Nick's knees, pushing him back, sending him stumbling backwards to land on his bed. Gasping in shock and in pain, Nick can only lie there, too stunned even to think about fighting as Nigel pulls his arms above his head and secures them to the headboard. For a second, Nigel struggles with the brace that is supporting his injured wrist. But then, finding it too awkward to work around, he simply rips it from Nick's body, sending another wave of agony crashing over him, before snapping the cool metal cuff around his already bruised flesh.

When he is finally able to think coherently again, when the pain consuming his body has settled from a flash fire of agony to a mere burning ache, Nick opens his eyes to find that somewhere along the line, Nigel has also bound his legs to the bottom of his bed and has removed his own clothing. Standing beside the bed, he looms over Nick, his eyes drinking in the sight of the bound man below him. Nick's eyes however are drawn to the prominent erection that Nigel is sporting. Fear grips him, and despite his injuries, despite the futility of the exercise and the promise of more pain, he struggles to pull himself free.

"Manners, Nick. Manners. That's no way to behave with your friend. Now is it?"

As he speaks, Nigel clambers onto the bed with him, kneeling between his wide-stretched thighs. Terror spikes through Nick, as Nigel leans in to touch him, trailing his clammy hand down Nick's heaving chest and stomach, before coming to rest in the nest of hair that surrounds his cock.

"You're so beautiful, Nick. I can't wait to taste you. Can't wait to be inside you. I want to see you cum for me. You're so beautiful when you cum."

Before he can gather breath to ask Nigel when he saw him cum, Nick feels Nigel's hand lift his flaccid cock and expertly begin to stroke him. To his horror, he can feel his traitorous body respond to the stimulation, and his mind flashes back to another night, another unwelcome touch.

"Please. Please, stop. Please, just leave me alone."

The cloying sweet scent of freesia and lily of the valley filled his lungs, combining with the acrid tang of his own sweat and fear. Cruel hands roamed over his body, touching him in unfamiliar and unwelcome places. All he could think was that his mom would be so mad when she found out. Those were private places and he wasn't supposed to let anyone touch him there. He was going to be in so much trouble. He started to cry then, begging her not to touch him anymore, not to hurt him, but his pleas were ignored.

"Sssshhhh, now, Nicky. You'll like this, I promise. You're a big boy now and this is what big boys do. Just remember though, that this has to be our little secret. I wouldn't want you to get into trouble or they might take you away."

But he hadn't liked it, not one little bit, but he had kept it a secret. He had buried his guilt and his pain and carried on as if nothing had happened. Now it is happening all over again.

The warm moist heat of Nigel's mouth surrounding his hard cock brings Nick back to the present. With a deft hand and a skilful tongue, Nigel brings Nick quickly to orgasm, grinning insanely as he watches Nick's body shudder and twitch in his restraints. While Nick is still riding the aftershocks of his climax, Nigel pushes a pillow under his hips, positioning him for easy access. He has prepared Nick a little, while he sucked him. First one, then two fingers finding their way inside the Texan's body, stretching him for what is to come. Now he is ready for the taking and with a sigh of immense pleasure, Nigel slides all the way home in one harsh thrust.

Nick's eyes shoot open as he feels Nigel thrust into him. One nightmare seems to bleed into another. The unspeakable past becoming the horrifying present, as his body is taken against his will. He tries to scream, tries to reason, but his tongue and his intellect are held hostage by the overwhelming desolation that settles over him. Perhaps he does deserve this. Perhaps, as they had both had told him, he wants this, needs this. No--no, that isn't true. He never asked for any of this, never wanted to be a plaything for some sick bastard's twisted desire. Humiliation floods him, tears of frustration and shame track silently down his face, and in their burning wake, all resistance slips away.

Intent on his own pleasure, Nigel never sees the silent battle raging in the soul beneath him. He does not see the fire dim and go out of liquid brown eyes. Nor does he not see it replaced by acceptance and blank despair. In truth, he does not care. All he can see is Nick's body, lean and taut below him, glistening with sweat. All he can feel is the tight heat of Nick's channel, as he fucks him brutally. As he feels his orgasm approaching, he hammers into Nick's ass with an increasingly clumsy rhythm, until with one final thrust he cums in hot, fast spurts.

Nick feels when Nigel's orgasm claims him. Feels the hot rush of cum splash up inside him and Nigel's rapid heartbeat as he collapses on top of him. Agony flares through him, as his abused ribs are once again imposed upon and he can't help the gasp of pain that slips free from his tightly closed lips. Nigel hears it though, and he pulls himself up and out of Nick's body, rising to stand beside the bed. Quickly, efficiently, he dresses himself, before dropping once more to sit on the side of the bed. He leans in, one hand reaching out to clasp Nick's jaw, holding him in place. Then his mouth descends, his hot loathsome tongue trying to force its way inside Nick's mouth. It's a sloppy parody of a kiss, just as what they have done is an appalling parody of love. When he is done, Nick turns his face away, refusing to look at him.

He doesn't see, but he can feel Nigel release his legs from their restraints. Then Nigel's bending over him releasing the cuffs. As blood rushes into his hands, the numbness that had settled there is quickly replaced by pain as feeling returns. He rubs at them to get the circulation going and throws a quick glance at his bedside clock. Twenty minutes. That's all the time it took to turn his world upside down. Twenty minutes. It felt like a lifetime. Nigel throws his clothes at him and tells him to get dressed.

They are back in the remains of his living room now and Nigel is acting as if they are the best of friends. To look at him, you would never know that he has just raped the man standing not two feet away from him. He's animated and chatty and Nick wants nothing more than to gut him where he stands. He talks about the body at their feet, the body of Morris Pearson, the man he killed, before turning his invective on Nick once more.

"You know, we made friends that day, Nick. And every time since, you just blew me off. Do you know that? You just completely blanked me. You are so self absorbed. I was right in front of your face."

"Manners, Nick. Manners."

Fear courses through his veins anew, as Nigel orders him to stand, bringing the gun to bear on his head. However, he can't remain silent. Anger and pride combine, washing away the quiet acceptance of earlier and he raises his eyes to meet and hold Nigel's gaze.

"I don't want to disappoint you, Nigel. But this isn't the first time I've had a gun in my face."

Stepping closer now, his tongue slipping out to wet lips gone suddenly dry, he swallows hard before asking.

"How do you want this to end, Nigel?"

Nigel's hand is shaking now, minute tremors racing through his body, the gun in his hand dancing before Nick's mesmerized eyes, holding his attention.

"How do I want this to end? I want you to be able to remember my name."

In a blur of motion, Nigel draw the gun back until it is pressed tightly under his own chin. Nick lunges then, fighting him for possession, throwing their arms into the air. A shot rings out, he doesn't know which of them has pressed the trigger in the melee, and then suddenly there is a crashing sound and voices surrounding them both. Uniformed officers wrestle Nigel from his terrified grasp, and he retreats, arm and gun held away from his body. Then, Nigel is on the floor and Jim Brass's hand is on the nape of his neck, offering comfort as he murmurs the words, "It's done, it's done," in a reassuring, comforting cadence.

"I don't think it was about you, Nick".

Standing in the empty observation room, watching as Nigel is led away, Nick knows that for once, Grissom is wrong.

It had been about him. In his insanity, Nigel had seen a weakness in him, a flaw and he had exploited it. He had watched and listened and now he knew all of Nick's deepest fears and secrets.

"I feel you near me, Nick. Can you feel me?"

Shame once again sends a flush rushing across his features, but there is no one here to see it. Thank god. Because as much as he hates to admit it, even to himself, he can feel him. The memory of Nigel's cock filling him haunts his every waking moment and his dreams too. He wakes in a cold sweat, visions of Nigel's face contorted in the ecstasy of orgasm, filling his mind. It didn't matter how many times he showers, or how hard he scrubs his flesh, he can never get clean enough. It is as if Nigel's crazy scent has become embedded in his pores and he can never be free of him. The others watch him carefully, waiting to see if he will fall apart, but he never lets his guard down.

Silently he bares the burden of his shame, alone. Night after night, he puts his game face on and tries to be the good ole boy that the others expect him to be. Gradually he fools them and they stop paying attention. New cases, new human monsters, come and go and Nigel Crane slips from their minds, like a memory lost.

But in the deepest recess of his heart, in the space between the waking world and slumber, Nick remembers his name.

"I feel you near me, Nick. Can you feel me?"

"Yes."


End file.
